For the past couple of weeks, and (more specifically) when I’m taking quiet moments to try to fight off the remnants of COVID-19 by virtue of such remedies as “sleep”, I’ve had one specific sex scene in my head.
It’s one of my favourites, for sure, although for some reason I’ve never really mentioned it on my blog… I probably will at some point. It’s hot, anyway, it’s quick to start, it’s quite long, and it’s got Amber Newman in it. But this post isn’t about that. Unless you want to wank, in which case I would recommend. I mean, I had my first wank in weeks to this scene and I came so hard that I managed to hit my shoulder.
Where was I?
Oh, yes. Well, I’ve talked before about how my daytime dreams tend to be more sexual than my night-time ones, for sure, but I’m not sure what I was doing during COVID-19 recovery could really be counted as “dreaming”. Most of the time, I wasn’t even asleep. Just… lying there. In all the pain and the discomfort and with the hideous scent I still have somewhere in my nose. COVID is boring, and at the end of the day, all I was doing was staying still, thinking about how I had COVID.
If I did fall asleep, it would be a fitful slumber. More than likely, I’d cough myself awake at some point, or suddenly need to vomit or drink or something, and I wouldn’t get the rest I needed…
…but just once…
I was surrounded by darkness. To say that I was in a dark room or a dark hallway wouldn’t be an accurate description of where I was – nor was I floating somewhere in the dark. I just had no other surroundings. There was one focal point of my dream and everything else did not exist. I could only see one thing, and that was my point.
Dreamy ILB was staring – not looking, staring – at a screen which was (somehow, I’m not sure how) in front of him. On the screen was a video (maybe a stream?) of another screen, close enough to the camera to see that this was, in turn, showing a third screen… and on this screen, clear as day, was a high-resolution, DVD-quality capture of that one very scene, both Amber Newman and Brian Heidik doing their thing. It’s all that I remember – the music, the disrobing, the sex.
Dreamy ILB got that swoopy feeling in his stomach that Normal ILB gets when he’s about to watch something that’ll make him come. Normal ILB, at that point, of course woke up – tearing him away from the scene he loves, throwing him back into his dark, empty bedroom and underneath the tangle of sheets he’d been using as a duvet replacement.
I lay there panting for a few moments. Time check – four in the afternoon. Okay, sure. Body check – still full of COVID. Do I need a drink? No. Toilet? No. Food? No – I keep bringing up whatever I eat. So why do I feel different?
And then I realise that I’m hard. Wait, no, not just hard – very hard. In fact, I think I’m more aroused than I’ve been all year. I’ve managed to turn myself on by having a dream about a stereoscopic view of a scene I’ve been watching regularly since the age of 18.
So what do I do now? I certainly can’t pleasure myself. I barely have the energy to breathe. Moving my hand would be completely beyond my capabilities.
With a Herculean effort, I roll over onto my side…
…I throw my stronger hand over my chest and drag it, finger, by finger, down my stomach…
…and I wrap my fingers around my shaft, feeling how hard it is, feeling it pulse and throb…
…and I go back to sleep.
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